This rambunctious Northampton power
trio are more than just a Yank Nashville Pussy minus the hot chicks. They're a
Yank Nashville Pussy who cover Billy Squier, delivering a swift kick to the
crotch of their fellow Mass metaller's "Everybody Wants You" on an album full
of similarly boisterous gestures. Like Billy, the Unband sing of "loneliness
and a-al-co-hawl" and cocaine and smokin' a bowl, so it's no surprise that
singer Matt Pierce prefers the whiskey-fied rasp of Motörhead's Lemmy to
Mr. Squier's AOR bravado. Although not as prone to full-throttle thrashing as
the aforementioned Pussies, the Unband suffer from a similar molten monotony --
nothing here's as catchy as hard rock's reigning revivalist touchstone,
Buckcherry's "Lit Up." But they have the amusing habit -- check out "Ski Hat,"
"Dope (Part 2)," and especially "$#@?!!" -- of riffing straight through what
would usually be a song's first couple of verses, throwing in a few lines of
debauched lyrics, then cutting the whole thing off around the two-minute mark.
It's these controlled doses of alcoholic incoherency, along with more
traditional barn burners like "Too Much Is Never Enough," that make
Retarder a keeper. -- Sean Richardson

*1/2 THE SUICIDE MACHINES (Hollywood)

It's fitting that the Suicide
Machines' third disc should be called The Suicide Machines -- taking a
kamikaze dive into Blink-182 blandishment, the foursome have traded the
frenetic nth-wave ska punk of their previous efforts for a more polished,
ostensibly radio-friendly sound. The album's cleaned-up, occasionally catchy
singing is undermined by cliché'd lyrics, and the rhythm section has
been mixed down from prickly and punchy to oatmeal smooth. Also, guitarist Dan
Lukacinsky's predictable pop-punk progressions lack both the standout,
hard-rock qualities that have driven radio-punk hits like "When I Come Around"
and "In Bloom" and the seductive glass-shard angularity of his earlier playing.
And though the TRL-addicted 12-year-olds who lifted Blink-182 out of near-pop
purgatory care more about adolescent gags than a band's roots, the tepid humor
on The Suicide Machines probably won't win even them over. The cute
kindergarten jest of "Sometimes I Don't Mind," a love ode to a dog ("I talk to
you sometimes/Even though you never talk back"), just isn't sophisticated
enough for enthusiasts of the rapid-fire juvenile jokes of "What's My Age
Again." Meanwhile, the rest of the disc is classic one-joke-wonder filler, from
the unfunny irony of "I Hate Everything," with the once-ubiquitous-now-effete
ska-guitar scratch buried in its mix, to the hammy hardcore of "Reasons." -- Nick Catucci

** Leona Naess COMATISED (MCA)

Had this past summer's Lilith Fair not
been the last, 24-year-old newcomer Leona Naess -- armed as she is with an
acoustic guitar, intimate lyrics, natural good looks (she's one of Calvin
Klein's new jean models), and a voice that's at once delicate and powerful --
would surely be in the running for a slot on the next tour. Born in Norway,
raised in England, and based in New York, Naess brings to mind the sultry
introspection of fellow NYC songstress Jennifer Bledsoe of Elysian Fields. She
credits Tracy Chapman and Joni Mitchell as primary influences, but the songs on
Comatised lean more toward modern-pop arrangements -- they're fleshed
out with piano, horns, and dashboard-drumming rhythms -- than stripped-down
folk. The disc's upbeat, radio-friendly tunes -- the breezy "Charm Attack" and
"Chase" -- are also its most innocuous and generic; Naess's voice shines only
on earthier, jazzier tracks like the lovelorn lullaby "Northern Star"; and the
lyrics are a little on the sophomoric side. The overall sound is dreamy,
hypnotic, and disarming, but too often Naess comes across as just another face
in the Lilith crowd, with little to distinguish her from dozens of other
up-and-coming female singer-songwriters. -- Mira Shin

** Horace Andy LIVING IN THE FLOOD (Melankolic/Astralwerks)

What is a
49-year-old Jamaican reggae singer doing on an imprint of the ultra-hip
American electronic label Astralwerks? Horace Andy's presence here is due to
his association with trip-hop pioneers Massive Attack, who introduced his
distinctive quavering tenor to wider audiences on their three albums. Although
the collaboration with the Bristol beatheads has been good for Andy, the
dub-pop masterpieces they recorded together raised expectations for his solo
release. And Living in the Flood doesn't quite meet those expectations.
Andy's voice is a high, nasal-inflected tenor that uses a curious trick -- a
sly and slippery stutter -- to great effect. The writing, too, is a
well-balanced mix of classic reggae topics like gun violence ("Johnny Too Bad")
and Rasta spirituality ("Seven Seals") mixed with unusual fare like "After
All," which chronicles a suicide attempt. But the greatest of voices and lyrics
couldn't save this album from production that favors a faceless and slick
studio sheen over both the rootsy vibe of Andy's '70s Jamaican work and the
brooding British dub of his Massive Attack tracks. -- Michael Endelman

***1/2 Honeyboy Edwards I'VE BEEN AROUND (32 Blues)

David "Honeyboy"
Edwards was a pup in his early 60s when these 14 mostly solo performances were
recorded. Twenty-two years later he's still going strong, a living connection
to the heyday of Delta blues -- in the midst of which he spent his youth riding
trains and hitchhiking from logging towns to levee camps to backwoods jukes
playing music for tips on paydays. But the roots of his unadorned style go back
even farther. They're especially visible in his take on Charley Patton's "Pony
Blues," where he beats his guitar like a drum and sings in chanting cadences
that sound distinctly African. "I'm a Country Man" showcases Edwards's
slide-guitar prowess; high-end screams (pitched to his keening vocal asides)
roll in contrast to burly low-string growls in a kind of call-and-response. On
his own, Edwards packs all these songs with plenty of dust and raw grit, even
when he's not bawling about "going to Chicago just to get my hambone boiled."
But the late harmonica legend Big Walter Horton really shades the four numbers
he's on. His rich-toned blowing brings teardrop notes to "You're Gonna Miss Me"
and skips happily through the declaration of male independence "Things Have
Changed." It's a union of kindred spirits, lost to the past if not for splendid
reissues like this. -- Ted Drozdowski

**1/2 Guy III (MCA)

This is the long-awaited sequel to Guy's 1990
sophomore effort, the ironically titled The Future. After a decade's
absence, all this trio of old-jack swingers have to offer is a collection of
well-crafted R&B songs. Let's not look a gift horse in the mouth, though --
it's an exceedingly pleasant listen with only one duff cut, the strained "Not a
Day." There are fun quotes of PM Dawn and Prince, and "Love Online" makes
shimmering make-out music out of AOL's Instant Message bells (just don't listen
while you're signed on or it'll have you searching for nonexistent windows).
But there's not much else to keep you coming back. Or maybe it's just that
Teddy Riley's trademark subliminal seduction techniques work better with
sprightlier tempos. His stint with Blackstreet has obviously convinced him that
slow is the way to go. So how well you respond to III depends on how
patient you are with letting his come-ons zap you. -- Kevin John

*** The Flashing Lights WHERE THE CHANGE IS (spinART)

Everything you
need to know about the Flashing Lights occurs within the first five seconds of
the title track, which kicks off this debut project from former Super Friendz
frontman Matt Murphy. "Since you've been gone I've been untrue -- hoping you've
been untrue too," Murphy confesses as a Rickenbacker guitar blasts brightly
into view, toting with it a few licks nicked from the first three or four
albums of the Who and the Kinks (not to mention the complete recorded works of
the Raspberries). With amphetamine hooks, power-pop heart, and irrepressible
charm, the Flashing Lights dig the same kind of crisp snap, crackle, and pop
favored by labelmates the Revelers and the band's one-time Canadian tourmates,
Sloan. In fact, Murphy writes vivacious, harmony-and-hormone-charged songs that
are at least as catchy as those penned by his Halifax pals -- and some that are
better. Most of the tunes here are about what you'd expect 'em to be about:
girls, school, driving around, and staying young forever. Nearly half have
either "day" or "time" in the title. "Where Do the Days Go?" sounds like Eric
Carmen back when he was fun. And you can't help wondering how much more perfect
"Elevature" would be if it were cranking through a car radio somewhere in 1974.
Or the high-school-assembly scene in the next Richard Linklater flick. -- Jonathan Perry

*** Alien Crime Syndicate DUST TO DIRT (Collective Fruit)

A partnership between former Lemons drummer Nabil Ayers and former Meices singer
and guitarist Joe Reineke (who ably handles the production side, too), Alien
Crime Syndicate sound like a direct musical descendant of both bands. And as
they were two of the '90s' better punk-pop guitar nights out, that's a
promising combination. Less punk and more pop than the Lemons or the Meices,
the band's debut release, Dust to Dirt, combines straightforward guitar
assaults, persistent rhythms, and vocals that sneer and snarl, cavort and
cajole. There's plenty of fun and attitude here, and enough imagination to make
hook-laden anthems like "I Want It All" (which mocks the current trend of
greedy Me-isms marketed to the witless as self-fulfillment) and the
effects-enhanced opener, "Take Me to Your Leader" (which adds an unobtrusive
but pointed guitar solo from Fastbacks' Kurt Bloch), stand out. Dust to Dirt
won't change your life, but it will add a certain zing. -- Linda Laban